


The Traveller

by musemesmer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ...or does she actually fix it, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, More tags to come as the story progresses, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musemesmer/pseuds/musemesmer
Summary: "'Professor McGonagall, I’m in trouble. I’m on your side, I promise. But I need your help. I will tell you everything I think I can tell you, but you must promise me that you will not tell anyone - least of all, Professor Dumbledore.' Hermione was desperate to have her understand, to be her ally, to help her.McGonagall raised her eyebrows. 'But what could possibly be so secret that not even Dumbledore -?''Please, Professor. It’s for your safety. For everyone’s safety.'"----The Battle of Hogwarts goes wrong. So wrong, that Hermione, friendly, family-less, and on the run from Voldemort's followers, knowingly launches herself into the past to make things right. Instead of going back two years, she goes back twenty. Her plans change and, with the help of an unlikely ally, Professor McGonagall, she vows to dismantle the plans of two great wizards: Lord Voldemort and Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall is reluctant, but Hermione has never let someone's reluctance stop her before.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Others TBD
Comments: 30
Kudos: 81





	1. Travel

**Author's Note:**

> I always had the question: What if Hermione and McGonagall teamed up? It's been bouncing around in my head for so long, I had to try to write it. I've been writing this story for a while now, and hope that if people like it, it'll motivate me to write faster. Hope you enjoy!

There were bangs, screams, flashes of red and green and yellow. She kept running. This was the only way to fix things, to fix everything, she was sure of it. She leapt up the stairs, turned corners, doged curses, reached out her hands to grasp the hourglass stored in an abandoned storeroom, green flew past her ear and hit the glass right as she touched it, sand poured out around her….

And everything fell.

Or, rather, she was falling.

She couldn’t tell which it was. She tried to focus, became dizzy, and fainted.

* * *

Someone was yelling. _It hadn’t worked._ She had to get up, be ready to fight. Hermione lunged to her feet dizzily, wand ready and pointed in the direction of the sound.

It was Professor McGonagall. And she also had her wand pointed right at Hermione’s chest.

“Oh, Professor,” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and lowered her wand, “It’s just me. Why are you up here? Why aren’t you downstairs with the others?”

Professor McGonagall didn’t lower her wand: if anything, it went an inch higher. Her eyes and lips narrowed. “I thought Peeves - our poltergeist - was the cause of all the banging. But apparently it was you, Miss -”

Hermione frowned, “But Professor, it’s me, Hermione.” _Had she been imperiused?_

“I don’t believe we have ever met. Why are you in this castle and why were you causing such a racket?”

Hermione froze. But Professor McGonagall has been her professor for 6 years. She was her head of house…she knew her well; she _trusted her_. Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again and looked. McGonagall was wearing her tartan bathrobe, so it must have been late at night. But there wasn’t as much grey in her professor’s hair, nor were there as many lines.

 _No, no, no, no…_ Her head started pounding. _This can’t be happening._ Her head throbbed, she reached out to grab onto the wall, and collapsed.

* * *

Sunshine was pouring on her face. Hermione squinted her eyes open and found herself in a bed by the window in the hospital wing. _The bed Harry always had._ He hadn’t liked sleeping anywhere that felt enclosed, and once she had learned that, Madam Pomfrey had always given him the window bed.

Hermione pushed herself up and looked around. The curtains around the bed were different than she remembered, dark gray instead of green. She reached towards the bedside table for her wand, but it wasn’t there. She gripped her bed covers, throwing them off, searching frantically.

“Your wand is safe.” Professor McGonagall drew up a chair next to her bed and sat down. “The return of your wand is contingent upon satisfactory answers to my questions.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, not really understanding at all, but settling herself back against the pillows in what she hoped was a non-threatening position. Professor McGonagall was perched on the edge of her seat, tense. _Not unlike a cat ready to pounce._

“What would you like to know?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hermione Granger.”

“Where are you from?”

 _The future._ “Hampstead.”

“But that’s in England. Why haven’t you attended Hogwarts?”

Hermione hesitated. “That’s...complicated.”

Professor McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows. “Now, Miss Granger, if you are going to withhold information from me -”

Hermione took a deep breath and interrupted her teacher. “Please, Professor, if you wouldn’t mind telling me, what’s the complete date?”

“It’s Friday, 2nd June.” She had been asleep for two days. Or so she thought. Did she land here the same day she had left?

“And the year?”

“Miss Granger, I don’t believe you hit your head that hard…”

“Please, Professor.”

“It’s 1977, of course.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her chest and the world swam around her alarmingly again. She reached her arms up and pulled her hair back with her hands, staring into the distance. _How could this have happened? You were only supposed to go back two years, not twenty! Think, Hermione, think._

A hand grabbed her arm and jerked it. Hermione jumped, but Professor McGonagall didn’t notice. She was staring at the word carved and scarred into Hermione’s arm, mouth open and eyes wide. Hermione pulled her arm away and clenched her jaw. She refused to let herself cry.

“My dear, who -- how --?”

Hermione massaged her temples. _Think, fast._ “Is Professor Dumbledore here?”

“No, he’s away for the month dealing with a MACUSA international agreement.”

 _Perfect._ “Professor McGonagall, I’m in trouble. I’m on your side, I promise. But I need your help. I will tell you everything I think I can tell you, but you must promise me that you will not tell anyone - least of all, Professor Dumbledore.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “But what could possibly be so secret that not even Dumbledore -?”

“Please, Professor. It’s for your safety. For everyone’s safety.”

“Miss Granger, perhaps you don’t know how things work here, but I am bound by honor and loyality to the Headmaster of this school,” McGonagall said sharply. She sat up straight, shoulders squared, and it was clear how _proud_ she was to respect the school and its traditions.

 _Bugger. That’s going to be difficult._ “Professor, this goes beyond schools. This is about protecting the wizarding world. About stopping Voldemort. About stopping this --” she held up her scarred arm, “from happening to other Muggleborns!”

Professor McGonagall hesisted, her eyes focused on the scar. “I will listen to you….however, if I find your story unsatisfactory, I will indeed report to the headmaster.”

 _Deep breath,_ she thought, and so she did. “I’m Hermione Granger. I’m a muggle born. I fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I went to Hogwarts for 6 years. I came here from 1997. I was born on September 19, 1979.”

Professor McGonagall blinked. Once. Twice. Opened her mouth, closed it again. Then frowned, “If this is some sort of a practical joke…”

“Professor, I promise you, it isn’t.” _What can I say that would convince her?_ “In the future, I kne--know Remus Lupin, and I know he attended - attends Hogwarts even though he is a werewolf, and every month he sneaks off to the Shrieking Shack with a passage under the Whomping Willow that was planted just for him to transform safely.”

“But how - only Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and myself know that. And of course, Lupin himself, but he’s not likely to tell anyone that -”

“Like I said, Professor, I am from the future. Here, look --” Hermione grabbed her beaded bag from the bedside table and pulled out a random book, opened it up to the title page, and showed her professor the publication date. “This was published 18 years from now, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall took the book and poked and prodded it with her wand for a few minutes. Finally, she returned it to her, with her eyes narrowed. Professor McGonagall wasn’t going to accept this lightly… “How, pray tell, did you manage to come to 1977?”

“I -- there was --” _How much can I say? How much do I want to say?_ Hermione closed her eyes. Bangs and bodies bombarded her brain. Her friends, her classmates, dead -- a cold, high pitched laugh…..

“Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall called her name.

Hermione shook her head and blinked, trying to clear it. _It’s okay. You’re here, not there. Or...you’re then, not now? Or in the future?_ She blinked again. “There is a war. We are - we were losing - badly. I discovered a way to go back in time more than an hour, but the device I set up got hit by a curse as I was using it….I only wanted to go back two years, not twenty.”

Professor McGonagall thought about this for a second. “Why did you want to go back two years in the first place?”

“There were more _whys_ than _why nots,_ Professor. We were losing badly to Voldemort,” she ignored McGonagall’s jump at the name. Hermione’s breath was shallow as she thought of all the reasons _why._ “...most of my friends were dead, most of the people we were fighting with, our professors, our families, were injured or gone or captured...he was taking Hogwarts. I thought, if I could do it over, we could plan better and stop him sooner.”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took Hogwarts? Surely not, Miss Granger, the castle is impenetrable, especially with Professor Dumbledore!”

Hermione looked at her straight in the eyes, brow furrowed, voice cold. “Professor, you are making the assumption that we still had Professor Dumbledore by then.”

Professor McGonagall gasped and raised a shaky hand to her heart, but Hermione continued. Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Or you, for that matter. Or Professors Flitwick or Snape or Sprout or Slughorn. Or the members of the Order. Or the Weasleys. Or Tonks. Or Lupin. Or….or Harry and Ron.”

At Ron’s name, Hermione’s bravado gave way. “They’re all dead. We lost them...we lost them all.” She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.


	2. Two Great Wizards

Minerva didn’t know what to think of this strange situation, and this strange girl who arrived in the middle of the night with cuts and blood and dirt covering her body. _And the word Mudblood carved into her arm._

She made sure Madam Pomfrey gave Miss Granger a Dreamless Sleep potion, lay the wand on her bedside table, and did what she always did when she was overwhelmed and confused: fixed herself a Hot Toddy and headed straight to the library.

The combination of old books, tea, alcohol, and little sleep befuddled her senses. _I have a secret time-traveller that Dumbledore can’t know about._ She giggled, then shook her head to regain her sensibilities. She still wasn’t sure that she _couldn’t_ or _shouldn’t_ tell Professor Dumbledore…

She grabbed a piece of parchment and started taking notes - on how to send her traveller back, and the effects of time travel on the future. Even the books in the Restricted Section weren’t much use on this matter.

Finally, well into the evening, she decided to write a letter to her friend in the Department of Mysteries, stressing the need for confidentiality. She sent it off with a sigh, drained the last of her whiskey, and fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke the next morning pleasantly refreshed and clearer-minded. Deciding it was best to get to know her traveller better, she asked a house elf to bring breakfast up to the hospital wing for herself and Miss Granger.

Miss Granger, Minerva was pleased to see, was looking much better. She had showered, plaited her hair, and without the dirt and scratches on her face, she looked much younger and healthier, though far too skinny, and her eyes carried a sort of weariness that Minerva was only used to seeing in older wizards and witches.

“You’re looking much better today,” Minerva said, drawing up chairs and a table with her wand. “How are you feeling?”

With a wince, Hermione carefully pushed herself off the bed into the chair. “Much better, thank you. Still sore, but that will heal in time.”

“May I ask what caused the soreness?” Minerva asked, pouring them some tea.

“There was a battle. We were losing badly. I wasn’t really in shape and...and dodging curses was difficult. Thank you,” she said, accepting the tea with a grateful smile, “I remember hurting myself when I twisted badly, and I know some curses managed to hit me.”

Minerva did not enjoy the cavalier manner in which her traveller spoke, and put her teacup down to prevent it from shaking. She examined the folder with Miss Granger’s medical report. “I’m glad to see Madam Pomfrey believes you’re healing rather well, and will make a full recovery with continued potion usage. She did say you’re a bit malnourished though. How did that happen?”

“My friends and I were hiding from Voldemort and - oh, Professor, honestly, it’s just a name. How will you ever fight him if you can’t even face his name?” Miss Granger said irritably when she jumped at the name.

Minerva sputtered, “But Miss Granger - surely - I have no intention of fighting him directly - and we’re in Hogwarts, it’s safe.” But the words coming out of her mouth felt foolish, childish. Here she was, a professor, being told off by a woman much younger than she.

Miss Granger gave her such a harsh glare, one eyebrow raised and with such cold disappointment that Minerva visibly winced. _I wonder if this is how my students feel._

“Professor, will you really not fight him? When he takes the lives of your best and brightest students, will you stand by? When he charges the gates of Hogwarts and steals the home you love and the home of your loved ones, will you refuse to fight? When Muggleborns are forced to register, are denied entry to Hogwarts, and are required to hand in their wands, will you accept this?”

“No, of course not, I -- but not the front --”

“Professor, the wizarding population in Britain is incredibly diminished. If you fight his cause, you will ultimately end up fighting him head on at some point. He is only a man. He is not a higher power or unbeatable force. Use his name, see him as a man, and he becomes beatable.” _Even though we weren’t able to do it ourselves,_ voiced the cynical voice in Hermione’s head, but she pushed it aside: this time will be different.

Minerva took a deep breath and nodded once. She took a sip of tea, entirely unsure of what to say. This young woman had just successfully lectured her and changed her mind in a matter of minutes…

Miss Granger seemed aware of this, so she continued. “Anyway, Harry, Ron and I were camping away from Voldemort to avoid him for most of the last year. It wasn’t easy to find food, and I’m not the best cook...we weren’t exactly particularly well nourished.”

At that, Minerva remembered her request for food, and summoned a house elf. “We’re ready for breakfast, if you could please bring it.”

“Yes, Professor,” the elf squeaked and appeared again in seconds laden with hot porridge, heaps of scrambled eggs, bacon, croissants, and toast, berries, juice, and pancakes. Miss Granger’s eyes grew wide and desperate as she tried to put as much on her plate as she could without seeming rude.

“Manners aren’t important here, Miss Granger. But do eat slowly - I’ve heard eating quickly after not eating can upset your stomach.”

Miss Granger nodded, visibly relaxing in relief at the food. “We were camping, and without much knowledge on how to hunt or scavenge for food. We were surviving off of mushrooms and not much else. I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal…”

Minerva frowned at this, but decided not to interrupt this girl’s first full meal.

When they had finished, Miss Granger asked a startling question. “Professor McGonagall, do you have access to the headmaster’s office while he’s away?”

Minerva blinked. “Yes, as Deputy Headmistress, of course, but --”

“And he won’t be back today?”

“No, he will not.” Minerva said, trying to hide her annoyance at continually being interrupted by this girl.

“Wonderful,” Miss Granger said, draining her teacup, which vanished along with the plates as she set it down. “In that case, may I suggest we go there so I can _show_ you my story, instead of telling it to you?”

“Exactly how -- ah, the pensieve.” Minerva thought for a moment. As long as they didn’t view any of Albus’ memories, there should be nothing wrong with that. “Yes, I suppose, if you believe that’s the best way. But I still believe we should tell the Headmaster --”

Miss Granger was shaking her head vigorously, “Professor, please watch first, and then make that decision again.”

Professor McGonagall protested again, “Miss Granger, really, if we’re intruding in his space, we should really inform him.”

Miss Granger sighed deeply and thought for a minute. “Okay. How about we view my memories and stories first, and then if you don’t believe me… then, you can tell Professor Dumbledore.” It looked as though it pained her deeply to say such words.

And so they watched. They watched as a scared 12 year old girl became best friends with two boys who saved her from a troll, watched as she fought her way towards a stone to prevent a man she had known about for less than a year from returning. They watched, and saw how nobody helped. Minerva watched how she herself was approached by three young children, and utterly disregarded what they were saying. They watched how, at 13, Miss Granger perfected the Polyjuice Potion, but gave herself a tail, how she figured out about the basilisk, but was petrified. Miss Granger blushed when her fourteen year old memories revealed her crush on the redhead, but Minerva ignored it and watched as her student became a professor, another student became a murderer, and then wasn’t actually a murderer, and another one was.

Miss Granger paused there to let Minerva catch her breath, which she needed. “Are you ready, Professor? It gets much worse from there.”

Minerva could hardly see how, but braced herself to continue. And then she watched as this poor boy, a child, was put through the tournament, how Professor Dumbledore refused to do anything to stop it, and the return of You-Know ---- no, Voldemort. And the torture and torment of the following years, how the three children fought and fought to right the wrongs of this world.

And then: the last year. How Miss Granger modified her parents’ memories, but how Voldemort found them anyway. How her surrogate family, the Weasleys, were cut down and tortured and murdered. Miss Granger, sobbing over Ron’s dead body, being pulled away by someone else before being hit by a curse….

And Harry Potter. Harry Potter, who looked so much like James, a horcrux and dying, but not really, pretending to be dead, and being slaughtered again in the final battle. The Hallows helping, but not saving, him. And then Miss Granger running through the halls, trying desperately to get to the room with the time turner, her last failsafe.

The sun was well on its way to setting when they finished. Minerva conjured them some whiskey and they both downed their first glass - Miss Granger coping with the trauma of her life, and Minerva coping with the information she had just received.

They nursed the second glass as the sun set. They sat without speaking, surrounded by the portraits of old headmasters, both processing both, trying to accept.

Eventually, Minerva broke them out of their reveries. “Miss Granger, I spent a good portion of last night researching. I’ve even sent a letter to a friend of mine in the Department of Mysteries, and he has yet to respond, but I’m afraid it may be impossible to send you back. As of yet, there aren’t any known ways to travel forward in time.”

Miss Granger took a large gulp of whiskey and gazed into the fire for a few minutes before squaring her shoulders herself and facing Minerva. “I know there are no ways to send me forward. I had hoped to fix things by going two years back but...I’m not even certain that was enough time. So much damage has already been done. Harry and Neville grew up without parents. Harry never had a childhood, and I was too preoccupied trying to help him survive to have a relationship with my parents after I began Hogwarts….”

“But your family, your friends...won’t you miss them?”

“They’re dead, Professor. I already miss them. That isn’t going to change. It’s not easy, but maybe I can create a future where a little Hermione Granger can have a joyful life, maybe Neville won’t be scared, maybe Harry will have a family….maybe we can spare more than one innocent life,” she said those last words wryly, and Minerva remembered hearing Dumbledore saying them before he foolishly sent two teenagers back in time.

“Miss Granger, the consequences of such time travel…”

“Are unknown. But the future that we currently have - would you wish that on anyone?”

“I would not. But what if this makes it worse?”

“Then at least I tried. And with so much knowledge….I have to believe that we can only make it better.”

“I believe that at some point, it will be problematic not to inform Professor Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Granger admitted. “But I’d prefer not to. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” She paused. “Professor Dumbledore is a great man, and a kind man, but he often believes that he is the only great one, and as such, creates more problems than he solves. He, I hope, is not ill intentioned, but merely too smart and secretive for his own good. He could have been honest, could have helped and guided us more.”

“Miss Granger, have you considered the possibility that keeping this all a secret is doing exactly what the Dumbledore in your world did?”

After a moment, Miss Granger replied slowly. “No….honestly, I hadn’t. I’d be willing to reconsider telling him….but not just yet, and maybe not at all. I can only control what I know, and if he knows, it may change his plans.”

“That is a compromise I can agree to. I believe we will need his help at some point.”

“We? Will you help me, Professor?”

“So long as our interests remain aligned, I will..”

“Even though it means actively working against and foiling the plans of Dumbledore? Working to stop not one, but two great wizards?”

Minerva thought about the cloak, the Dursleys, the stone, the Triwizard Tournament, and every foolishly harmful decision he made, as though people were pawns on his giant chess board. _But I’ve always beaten him at chess,_ she thought shrewdly.

“Yes, Miss Granger, I will.”


	3. Time to Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and Kudos I've gotten! I'm so glad you like the story, and I hope you'll keep on commenting. Many thanks especially to Brilliant14hhr for the super enthusiastic reply - it got a huge smile on my face - and TheLoud for checking my consistency. I really really appreciate it! FlyingLemonKitten thank you for being the first commenter on the work!
> 
> I've the chapter after this completely finished, but I have a bunch of real-life projects occurring at the moment, so my goal is to publish a chapter a week and get ahead a few chapters. I'm excited that you're along for the ride! Enjoy this chapter!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and want to chat about the story, leave a comment or message me on tumblr @musemesmer!

Hermione felt surprisingly refreshed after sharing with Professor McGonagall. Exhausted, drained...but somehow lighter, and comforted, as though having her head of house on her side was a very large, motherly, stiff Scottish hug.

They decided that Hermione would start her 7th year in September. The irony of attending school with James Potter, her best friend’s father, and Remus Lupin, her former professor, did not escape her. Professor McGonagall wrote to Professor Dumbledore about a British student who grew up in Australia and whose parents had suddenly died. Of course Dumbledore agreed on her admittance instantaneously, and trusted Professor McGonagall to ensure the student was updated on the curriculum.

Hermione set to work straight away. There were many things she wanted to solve, and just as many she wanted to change. She wrote it all down in a massive journal, and charmed the journal to be readable only by her, but shoved it down deep in her beaded bag for safekeeping nonetheless.

In both worlds, money meant power, and she needed all the power and resources she could get. She invested her muggle money in companies such as Apple and Microsoft. _I suppose this is cheating…._ she contemplated her feelings of guilt, and then shoved them aside, _but playing fair didn’t get me anywhere before._

As for her galleons - well, Harry had let her withdraw the majority of his money before they went into hiding, and what better way to honor his and Ron’s memories than by investing in the Nimbus and Firebolt startups? And the twins’, by investing in Zonko’s?

That was another thing. Flying. She was a witch, damn it, and she had to get her fear of brooms under control and learn to fly safely, in case there was ever another air battle. _Perhaps,_ she thought with a smile, _I can convince James to teach me. Harry would like that, I think._

She studied her seventh year curricula obsessively, determined to be ahead so she can focus on other things, such as flying and defensive training, once the school year began.

This is what she was best at. Strategizing, planning, working hard. She was a fighter, because growing up best friends with Harry Potter required her to be, but it was not what her _soul_ preferred. She liked having the time to think and use it to her best advantage. And with all of this foreknowledge - well, why not? This time, she would be prepared. This time, she would win.

* * *

Professor McGonagall herself took Hermione to Diagon Alley. The first place they went was to Madam Malkin’s. Hermione had no idea, but wizarding fashion actually _changed_ over the years. Her old robes stuck out like a sore thumb: her new robes were not unlike a floor length dress with sleeves that made it look like she was wearing a long-sleeved-shirt under a sleeveless dress. _Interesting. Well, I guess this is the 70s._ The robes were more fitted around the bust and waist than she was used to, and the sleeves tighter, but she actually didn’t mind. _Easier to move around in, less to get caught on._

They went to Flourish and Blotts and purchased all the books Hermione might need….and then some.

“Sorry, Professor, I don’t really have the ability to hold back in a bookstore,” Hermione admitted sheepishly, shoving her books in her beaded bag, which fell down with a thud.

Professor McGonagall grinned at her, arms laden with her own books, “It’s a problem I know well..”

Hermione bit her lip, then decided honesty was best if she was going to truly work with her professor. _Partners in crime with Professor McGonagall._ “Professor, can we go to Ollivander’s next?”

“Why? You already have a wand.”

“Yes, I know, but I want one for my left hand.”

Professor McGonagall blinked. One day, Hermione wouldn’t surprise her. “Are you sure that’s wise? You know you’ll never be as good in your non-dominant hand.”

“I know, but I can become good. What if I had twice the spell power? Or if I lose one wand, or my hand? I need to be flexible.”

It was clear that Professor McGonagall believed this an unnecessary purchase, but indulged her nonetheless.

Ollivander’s was just the same as she remembered it, even if she was taller than the counter this time. But it didn’t have the same…. _thrill_ as before. Then, she was an innocent, precocious 11 year old buying a _magic wand!_ and still not fully believing in magic entirely.

 _Well, I’m definitely still precocious,_ but this time she was there with a purpose, as a fighter.

“Professor McGonagall! A delight to see you again. Fir and dragon heartstring, yes? How is it treating you?”

“As good as the day I bought it, sir.”

“And...I daresay you are a bit old to be buying your first wand….how can I help you today, Miss…”

“Granger, sir. I’m interested in buying a second wand, but for my non-dominant hand.”

“That is quite unusual…..yet, we live in unusual times.” Ollivander was unnerving as he had been the day Hermione bought her first wand. “May I see your original wand?”

Hermione handed it over hesitantly. Mr. Ollivander looked at it for a long moment before wordlessly summoning a box. He took out the boxed wand and put it next to Hermione’s.

 _It’s my wand - but new!_ Hermione realized with a jolt. The two wands vibrated and emitted a golden vibe. The vibration grew and grew into a whistle. Mr. Ollivander watched in amazement and Hermione covered her ears.

“Mr. Ollivander, I believe that will do!” Professor McGonagall said sharply, grabbing Hermione’s wand back and handing it to her.

“I don’t know how you got this wand, Miss Granger, for I made it only a week ago. I remember every wand I have ever sold, and you did not buy this wand from me, yet I made it. Yet here it is, boxed and new, as well.”

Hermione ignored the panicked look Professor McGonagall was giving her. “As you said, sir, we live in unusual times. Now, my new wand?”

Mr. Ollivander looked at Professor McGonagall, who nodded. “She is trustworthy, Mr. Ollivander, I assure you, even if explanations are unavailable.”

Mr. Ollivander nodded and shuffled off, producing boxes of wands for Hermione. Channeling her magic through her left hand felt strange and unnatural, and she kept on wanting to put her wand in her right hand. At last she _felt,_ rather than heard, a hum from one of the boxes and pulled out a _gorgeous_ wand. It immediately warmed to her touch, and her primary wand hummed back happily in response.

“Ah, dragon heartstring, red oak. 10 ½’. Perfect for fighting,” Ollivander said knowingly.

“Yes, well, thank you for your time,” Hermione said briskly, paid the man, and hurriedly left the shop.

Hermione and Professor McGonagall looked at each other warily. “Well, that was unnerving.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Hermione said. “I worry about what will happen when younger-me attends Hogwarts. Should the other wand be destroyed? But if it’s destroyed, and I never get it, will I still have this wand now, or will it disintegrate? And another thing, is Ollivander trustworthy, or should we go back and Obliviate him?”

Professor McGonagall looked around worriedly. “I don’t suppose we should be discussing such matters in the middle of the most populated shopping district of wizarding Britain, Miss Granger!”

Hermione blinked. “No, I suppose you’re right. That was silly of me.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, “However, I think Ollivander is trustworthy - at least for now. Destruction of the other wand is hasty and would do us no good. Without further information on Time Travel, let us be more wary and less reactive.”

Still uncertain, Hermione decided to leave it for now and, if Ollivander proved problematic in the future, well, she could always handle him then.

Once they were back in the castle, a pot of tea brewing and piles of purchases surrounding them in Professor McGonagall's office, the professor mentioned another strategic maneuver - one that Hermione felt she should have thought of herself, but hadn't.

"I believe it would be beneficial for us all if you had a place of your own, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.

"I thought I'd be sleeping in the dorms come fall?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"You will, but you will also need a secure place for your extra....research activities, and it will keep you out of the way of prying noses now and during the term. I believe we can arrange for something in Hogsmeade, and connect it to my Floo so you could come and go as you please."

"That's not a bad idea," Hermione said, mulling the thought over. Come to think of it, she did tire of the hospital wing and wasn't sure how she felt about staying there for another two and a half months. Avoiding Dumbledore would be easier that way, too. "I'm decent with wards, but perhaps you could help me erect some additional ones, Professor?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

And so that was how Hermione came in possession of a decently sized flat in Hogsmeade. The owners of the building were a sweet elderly couple renting out their top floor and, once Professor McGonagall personally vouched for Hermione, neither asked many questions nor seemed particularly inquisitive into her lifestyle aside from the assurance that she would rent for at least a year. _I wonder if she'll be secretly glad that I'm gone from the castle..._

Professor McGonagall helped her place the wards, then left Hermione to get settled. She surveyed her surroundings: a kitchen big enough to hold four guests, six if they squeezed in, and a slightly larger living room with a large bookshelf, couch, and fireplace. She'd have to purchase a desk, though. Her bedroom had a slightly used, yet comfortable bed, a sizable wardrobe, and comfortable armchair which was promptly relocated to the fire by the living room. Hermione placed an order through _Witch's Home_ mail order service for some new linens and a bookshelf, and collapsed on the couch.

_A new home. A home base. Not something I particularly thought I'd need, but...I suppose, if I'm to remain in this timezone, I should start setting down roots somewhere._

Roots were a funny concept to her. She'd felt rootless for so long that the idea of staying put made her feel edgy, restless, unsure....yet at the same time, secure.


	4. Peculiar Situations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Tea at Minerva's brings an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter for the week. I hope you'll find some of the excitement beginning - next week's is already written, just need to do some editing, and you can look forward to meeting a familiar red head!  
> Thanks for the review, ConfigurationSpace! I hope you'll continue to enjoy the effects of time travel. 
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think!  
> -MM

_Dear Minerva,_

_It's good to hear from you, even if the predicament you find yourself in is unusually peculiar. You needn't worry about secrecy with me - the training for mastering Occlumency is rigorous and recurring here in the Department of Mysteries._

_Whoever your time-travelling friend is, she must be immensely powerful to have survived travelling this far back in time. Such travel is incredibly rare and has only been documented a handful of times throughout history - though I suppose most travelers prefer to keep their identities and true origin secret, so there may be more than we have documented. I have a few guesses why the Time Turner she used backfired, but they're only guesses, and at this point are honestly not worth mentioning. Unfortunately for her (and perhaps your sanity), in this timeline we have no solutions to send her forward in time, especially not by twenty years. As far as I am aware, it's only been done once, and I doubt Merlin's methods are repeatable._

_There is some speculation as to the healthiness of time-travel. Some papers have been written about the stability of the Traveller's mind; however, it's unclear if talk of the future made them sound insane. Still, please be on your guard for her mental stability. Effects of time travel on the psyche are most certainly present, but that is situational. Whether there are deeper, more serious effects are unknown._

_Please write to me if you have any other concerns or questions. I wish you and your Traveller well._

_Sincerely,_

_Howard Wollings_

_Well,_ that _was certainly interesting,_ Minerva thought to herself. She doubted the stability of her Traveller's mind, but only because of what she had _been through._ She had yet to witness any negative effects of the travel itself, but still, best be on her guard.

With settling her Traveller into this strange new world, finishing grading her exams, and preparing graduation in Albus' absence, the end of June was there before she knew it. She was glad she was able to convince Miss Granger to buy a flat - it kept her out of the hospital wing, and for the most part, the castle, away from prying students.

That evening, Minerva and Miss Granger had arranged to have tea in Minerva's quarters. After successfully connecting the Floo to Miss Granger's flat, her Traveller was able to come and go as she pleased - and in peace.

Punctually at 7 p.m., Miss Granger arrived in the Floo, neatly dusting her robes off before exiting the grate.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Minerva said while she finished piling the second-years' final exams neatly in a stack.

"Good evening, Professor," Miss Granger responded.

Even though she wasn't a student yet, Minerva found it rather peculiar, and a bit unsettling, to have a student in her quarters. Her quarters were sizable and comfortable: she had a guest room, her own bedroom, a comfortable bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. A portrait of Morgana led from her office to her quarters while a portrait of Isobel Gowdie, a Scottish witch from the 1700s, acted as a shortcut to the hall directly in front of the Gryffindor common room. Her living room was full of wooden glass-covered bookshelves on one side, with a sizable fireplace on the opposite wall. Even though she didn't often have many guests, armchairs and a couch surrounded a simple wooden coffee table in front of the fire.

It was there in a tall, cushioned armchair that Miss Granger perched herself. She, too, looked more than a little uncomfortable with the situation. Minerva busied herself with the kettle and teapot, which somehow made her feel calmer. With a cup of tea in her hands, Miss Granger started to look calmer herself.

"You're looking well," Minerva commented, "I'm pleased to see you're less starved looking."

And indeed Miss Granger did: some fat was returning to her body. Her cheeks were rosier, her hair fuller, and she was losing the pinched, underfed look she had brought with her.

"Three square meals a day will do that to you," Miss Granger responded, sipping her tea gratefully, "Though I'm definitely not the best cook - I'll be grateful once term starts."

"And here I am grateful that term will end!" Minerva laughed. "It'll be nice to have some peace and quiet around the castle."

"I bet."

"I haven't seen you much these last two weeks - I apologize, the term ending is always a busy time of year."

"No, it's okay, Professor!" Miss Granger said hurriedly, looking frazzled at the idea that her professor would be apologizing to _her._ An uncomfortable silence followed this, and Minerva rapidly searched for a topic.

"How is your new place treating you? Are you all settled in?" Minerva finally asked.

"Yes, it's wonderful, thank you!" Miss Granger leaned forward in her chair, grasping at the conversation topic. "I've been able to get some decent reading and planning done, now that my desk has arrived and bookshelf is organized."

"Oh? What kind of reading are you doing?"

"I'm trying to prepare a bit for seventh year," Miss Granger admitted, playing with the spoon in her teacup. "I figure it's beneficial to be a bit ahead so I can focus on other tasks once school has started."

"Such as?" prompted Minerva.

"Socializing more, honestly." Miss Granger said. "I'm admittedly not the most social person, but making connections is just as important as knowledge right now. It's strange enough that I'm mysteriously showing up for my seventh year. I don't want people thinking I'm dark. And we'll need all the help we can get for the war."

The "we" made Minerva shivered slightly, but if the other woman noticed, she said nothing.

"There are a couple of people I'd like to actively...recruit, for lack of a better word, to our side," Miss Granger said, "such as Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy."

Minerva choked slightly on her tea. _This girl doesn't play around!_ "Those are lofty goals, Miss Granger. Surely you realize the influence Mr Malfoy has and the people both he and Mr Snape associate with."

"I do," Miss Granger replied calmly, "I also believe neither of them wanted to become Death Eaters, and I certainly would like to show them better ways."

"Miss Granger, you can't save them all." Minerva looked sternly at her Traveller.

"Unfortunately, Professor, that knowledge won't stop me from trying," Miss Granger responded with a firm stare of her own.

Before Minerva could respond, Morgana's portrait spoke, startling them both and causing tea to be spilled in various quantities: "Minerva, the headmaster has returned and would like to visit."

Miss Granger looked panicked and quickly fixed her robes and hair. Minerva pressed her lips together tightly, not appreciating the intrusion, "Oh, very well, send him in."

The silver frame swung forward and Albus Dumbledore stepped in gracefully. Twenty years younger showed him with even more flamboyant black boots, a shorter beard, and fewer wrinkles - changes Minerva noticed because her last "viewing" of him had been in Miss Granger's memories in the Pensieve. (She tried her best to ignore how she had aged.)

"Professor Dumbledore, what a surprise!" Minerva said, standing and shaking his hand, "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Business finished a little earlier than I anticipated, and I tired of travelling. Excuse me, I didn't know you had company," Albus said apologetically, nodding in Miss Granger's direction.

"This is Miss Granger, our new transfer student I wrote you about. Miss Granger, this is your new Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore," Minerva said, trying to appear collected and not as if this entire situation threw her off balance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," Miss Granger said, approaching the headmaster and offering a firm handshake.

"I'm honored that you chose to leave your country and attend Hogwarts, Miss Granger," Albus said, looking at her through familiar, piercing blue eyes.

"I actually grew up here," Miss Granger said, "We didn't move to Australia until I was around 7."

"This would explain the accent, or lack thereof," Albus commented. "How are you finding the summer here?"

"I must admit it's a bit strange; I'm more used to it getting colder at this time than getting warmer, though I overall enjoy it." Miss Granger responded with conversational ease.

"Excellent, excellent." Albus responded though Minerva struggled to see _what_ about that was excellent. After a moment he turned towards his colleague and said, "And Professor McGonagall, have you determined that our new student is up to speed curriculum-wise?"

"Yes, that's just what we were doing," Minerva tried not to cringe at the lie, "I think you'll find Miss Granger excelling at all of our subjects here."

"Except perhaps flying," Miss Granger said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure if you require it beyond your OWL levels, but I'm a terrible flyer."

"Luckily, you'll find our flying requirement here stops at fourth year," Albus said mildly, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Granger. I'll not disrupt your evening any longer. Minerva, until breakfast." And with a small bow, Albus left the room.

Minerva turned to find Miss Granger taking a long, calming breath. "That was rather unexpected," her Traveller commented.

"Indeed it was. Finish your tea, dear, before it gets cold," Minerva gestured to the cup. _Dear?_

Miss Granger nodded and took a long, slow sip.

"What is it?" Minerva asked, "I thought that went rather well, don't you?"

"I'm not sure," Miss Granger said, "He used Legilimency on me. I'm not sure how much he was able to see, though I hope I blocked him out effectively."

Minerva's eyes widened, "But...surely he wouldn't on a student!"

Miss Granger gripped her cup tighter and looked her professor square in the face. "I know what it feels like. He did. He might do it again. Do you know that he didn't to you?"

"I..." Minerva paused, "I must admit, I've never studied Occlumency."

"Professor...." Hermione whispered in horror, "Then he might know."

Minerva brought a shaky hand to her mouth. Cold fear swept over her.

Later that night, her former student received a letter from a small, speckled tawny owl.

_Dear Howard,_

_Thank you for your letter. I would be most obliged if you could recommend any Occlumency courses for me to attend over the summer._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Minerva_


	5. Another Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione explores Hogsmede and meets an unexpected person with red hair and startling green eyes.

_One Sunday afternoon, Ron, Hermione, and Harry apparated to the Burrow for "Family Lunch" - but what was secretly supposed to be a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The first thing they noticed was Dark Mark hanging over the house, ominously bright in the mid-afternoon sun. Ron let out a mangled scream, Hermione gasped, Harry paled...they looked at each other and broke out in a run towards the house, wands raised._

_The kitchen was a disaster - obvious signs of a fight were there. Blood splattered the cabinets and floor. Not a single piece of furniture was left unharmed. Their family clock was broken, all hands had fallen off, glass shattered everywhere. The table was overturned and bore a long dark mark, as though someone had used it as a shield and the curse burnt deep into the wood. They looked behind the table._

_Percy's body was on the ground, torn with cuts and boils._

_"NO! No, Percy, no —-" Ron moaned and collapsed on the ground, shaking his brother as though doing so might wake him up._

_"Ron, we have to move, we can't stay here —" Hermione said, grabbing her boyfriend's shoulders and ignoring the tears streaming down her face. Her hand brushed Percy's in her attempt to move Ron, and she froze. It was still warm. This hadn't happened long ago._

_"Ron," Harry muttered from the living room. The tone in his voice told them that the news wasn't good._

_Mrs Weasley lay on the ground, her clothes torn from the fight and her eyes wide open in horror. Mr Weasley lay on top of her._

_"He used his last moments to try to protect her." Harry said. Hermione knew he was thinking of his own parents. Now Harry and Ron were equals in a way no one would wish to be._

_Ron collapsed against the wall, howling, screaming, full of body-wracking sobs. Hermione's arms surrounded him. He fell onto her. She rocked him as she would a baby, but didn't shush him or tell him it would be all right. She couldn't. Not when she didn't believe it herself._

_Harry stood in the doorway, wand positioned in case the attackers were nearby, allowing Ron the time to grieve._

_There were footsteps. "From outside," Harry whispered. The three of them froze. Ron's face looked up in hope. Harry and Hermione rose their wands higher, the footsteps grew closer,..._

Hermione woke up with a gasp, sweating and shivering. She grabbed her wand and sat straight up. _Lumos! Hominum revelio!_

She waved her wand around.

Nobody was there.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she wiped them away with her bed sheet.

She rubbed her forehead, sighing. She felt a brewing headache come on. Was this how Harry felt?

Her watch read 4:30 - still dark out, but the sun should be rising soon. No use going back to sleep now.

She climbed out of bed, threw on her bathrobe, and shuffled to the kitchen to make some tea. She stared off into space until the kettle whistled. She jumped.

Hermione settled in her living room on an armchair with some tea and a comfy throw, right near the window. She refused to think about Ron, Harry, her surrogate Weasley parents, or Percy. She couldn't go there. It was too much. Just the thought of them twisted her heart. It felt hard to breathe at the mere mention of their names.

She missed them every second of every day.

She took a long, slow sip of her tea, grateful for the warmth of the cup in her hands and the tea flooding through her body. She felt a little less stuck in her past with a strong cup of tea. A book was on her lap, but it lay unopened. It was nice, she decided, to watch the first gentle pinks and purples emerge over the rolling hills that surrounded the village. A few owls swooped in the distance, their outlines illustrating the different sizes of letters and packages.

She wasn't sure she believed in the promise of tomorrow anymore, but small moments like this reminded her she was alive. They gave her hope, when so little had recently.

A bakery she never visited as a student was opening up down the lane...perhaps she'll grab a bun for breakfast. She watched a magical milkman delivering bottles of milk to every door with a flick of his wand, apparating a few feet away and repeating the process. The sounds of the Hogsmeade Express came in through the open window. Living near the station helped her realize that two trains ran daily, depositing all sorts of magical folk along the route from Hogsmeade to Platform 9 3/4.

This knowledge made her feel smaller, more insignificant, as though this great world existed, right out of her grasp, as a Muggleborn. It was one of the countless things she'd like to change...both her knowledge about the Wizarding World and the accessibility of it to Muggleborns. Just because one world was hidden from the other doesn't mean that they need to live in complete separation of each other. _One thing at a time, Hermione._

Her head twinged again. She'd had Legilimency used against her before - twice, forcibly, and painfully. Her conversation with Dumbledore, however, was a new kind of pain: irritating, as though someone was poking her brain over and over. It was fading, slowly, but it unnerved her. _Would he believe her, or did he see the truth? How many other students had he done this to? What if he did it to Harry and had made his condition worse?_

These thoughts disturbed her and she pushed them away. Dwelling on it won't solve anything. She needed to have a tighter story...

Her parents were British wizards who moved to Australia when she was just about to turn 7 for a research program. They returned to Britain at least once a year to visit her grandparents, until they were deceased. Hermione never really took to Australia, preferring the lack of giant spiders and the cooler climate of the UK, so upon her parents' death (a spell gone wrong in the magical laboratory) she wanted to return to her homeland. Her quirks and oddities could be explained away as the result of someone who had grown up in two cultures with seriously academic parents.

Hermione pushed away the guilt she felt at adapting Luna's mother's death for her needs, but felt that it was easier to stick to what she knew. She shook her head rapidly to push those thoughts away and stood. "Yes, I will get some buns for breakfast," she said out loud.

Her voice echoed off the still-bare walls and she stilled, shaken by the silence. Never before had she been entirely alone for so long. She lived with her parents, then with dorm mates at Hogwarts, or was surrounded by the neverending bustle of the Burrow, or was on the run with Ron and Harry. Even in rare moments alone, she had Crookshanks.

She never knew what happened to him...if he ran off after the Burrow incident or was taken, or killed. They hadn't stayed long enough to find out. _Maybe I can find a cat similar to him here. That would be nice. A little less lonely...and I can bring him to Hogwarts! Maybe, if I'm really lucky, I can find some cat related to him. That way, the whole summer won't be focused on school and war preparation._

Even though it was early morning, it was shaping up to be a rather hot day, so she found herself donning a sleeveless, breezy light blue summer robe and black flats, easy enough to walk in and designed to keep the wearer cool. She ordered a cappuccino and raisin roll and, in the cafe adjoined to the bakery, settled in a little table for two by the window. Here she could watch the witches, wizards, warlocks, elves, and goblins go about their daily business. They seemed to be more integrated now than they were in her time. _I wonder if that's an effect of the war._ Perhaps Professor McGonagall could provide some insight. There were a few families with small children, but most of the residents were older than she was by at least ten years.

 _I'm usually observant, but most of my attention was focused on Harry and the crisis at hand. Perhaps I missed some things as a result,_ she pondered over her steaming coffee.

She people watched until the cafe was too busy for her to politely stay with an empty cup. She stood, thanked the elderly witch who ran it, and left.

When she arrived home, an owl was pecking at her window. She let it in, gave it some water, and opened an envelope to two individual letters.

The first one was from Professor McGonagall:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Professor Dumbledore thought it wise for you to meet and connect with someone from your upcoming year at Hogwarts. I have passed on his letter at his request, but declined to give him your address out of your respect for privacy. However, I believe you'll enjoy meeting the student._

_Additionally, your Apparition Exam is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10am. Please meet your examiner outside Honeydukes._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall_

Hermione sighed with relief. Finally, she'd be able to legally apparate again! She didn't enjoy putting her name down in a registry, but it was better than being caught apparating without a license.

She opened the next letter with hesitant curiosity.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I thought it would be wise for you to get to know a fellow student in your year. Lily Evans, Gryffindor Prefect, has enthusiastically agreed to meet you this afternoon for tea at 2 pm at The Three Broomsticks. She will gladly tell you about life and Hogwarts and answer any questions you may have about the Wizarding World. She is also under consideration for Head Girl next year. As such, this serves a double purpose of helping her train for the position._

_If you are free, your owl may find her at: Lily Evans Gryffindor Tower Hogwarts_

_Should you have any questions, I remain at your services. Sincerely, Professor Dumbledore_

A chance to meet Harry's mum! Of course she was going to say yes. She looked at the time - the owl post shouldn't have arrived at the Great Hall yet. She jotted off a quick note to Lily with a smile. _What on earth would Harry say if he knew who I was meeting today?_

* * *

That afternoon, Hermione found herself waiting nervously outside The Three Broomsticks. She always wondered what one should do in this situation - should she go inside and see if Lily was already there? She was certain she'd recognize Lily right away, but she wasn't supposed to, and how would Lily know who she was? She should have mentioned what she was wearing in the letter.

Hermione spotted some bright red hair a few minutes later, but pretended not to notice and kept scanning the crowds of people. Lily stopped in front of her.

"Hi, I'm sorry, are you Hermione Granger?" she asked, leaning in a bit towards Hermione.

"Hi, yes, I am!" Hermione said, "You must be Lily! It's so nice to meet you." They shook hands and went inside.

The Three Broomsticks was just as she remembered it. The smell of Butterbeer hit her nose like the smell of home might. Hermione inhaled deeply, "Oh, it smells so good in here!"

"That'll be the Butterbeer," Lily laughed, "Have you had it before?"

"Yes, I used to visit London as a child and had some with — oh!" Hermione gasped. Lily had taken off her sunglasses and Hermione was hit with an unnervingly and comfortingly familiar shape and color. _No wonder everyone always talked about Harry's eyes!_ The emerald shade shone out shockingly against her deep red hair and pale skin. They must have been very hard to forget.

"What is it?" Lily said warily, taking a step back.

Hermione realized she'd been staring, made a face and shook her head. "I'm very sorry, you must think me terribly rude - but the color of your eyes reminded me of a friend of mine - it just took me off guard. It's not a color you see every day," she rambled.

"I suppose not...well, shall we find a table?" Lily replied. The wary tone hadn't left her voice.

They found a table near the window in the back where they could see up into the hills. They ordered chilled Butterbeers and then...silence. Hermione cursed inwardly at making things so awkward. Lily fiddled with a coaster on the table.

"So have you spent much time in Britain, then?" Lily asked just as Hermione was about to apologize again.

"Yes!" Hermione grabbed onto the topic gratefully. "I mean, I grew up here until I was 7, when we moved to Australia, and we came back for Christmas and school holidays and the like, which was easy, because my parents also lived on the school schedule as academics."

"Is the wizarding community different there?" Lily asked.

"I'm not sure honestly, because I haven't spent much time in the wizarding community here. Up until my grandparents died, all visits were mostly family visits," Hermione replied.

"Oh, are your family Muggles, then?" Lily asked excitedly. "Mine, too!"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to lie to Lily, but also didn't want to brand herself as Muggleborn in this world, knowing the restrictions against Muggleborns in the first war.

"Is that a common question asked here?" Hermione settled on.

Lily blinked confusedly. "Well, yes...to the wizarding population, blood status is rather important."

"Oh. In Australia, it's not something that's really discussed or asked about," Hermione said, thanking the _Australian Wizards_ book she had devoured. "But let's say I'm not unfamiliar with the Muggle world and have spent much time in it."

"That's fascinating - I find it so ridiculous that people place such an importance on blood. We all bleed red, you know, and we're all magical, so I fail to see what the difference is!" Lily replied animatedly.

"I couldn't agree more," Hermione said. "So when did you find out you were a witch?"

"A local boy saw me doing magic at the park one time when I was about 9 or 10 and told me all about Hogwarts," Lily said wistfully. "He also goes to Hogwarts."

"Oh, that's so nice that you have a friend from back home!" Hermione wondered if she and Severus Snape were actually friends.

Lily hesitated. "Yes, well, we've drifted apart over the years, but in first year it was lovely. Anyway, enough about me....why are you switching to Hogwarts just for your final year?"

 _Because it's the best chance I have to regroup and begin to build a life here._ "Because there wasn't anything left for me in Australia." Hermione answered shortly.

Lily took the hint and didn't push. "And what about your summer plans?"

"I'm not really sure, honestly," Hermione said, "I might do a bit of travelling around the country once I've gotten my apparition license, and then I'll probably prepare for the school year most likely." Somehow, tracking Voldemort's movements, seeking out the Horcruxes he had already made, and training for war didn't have the same ring to it.

"Oh, you don't have your license yet?" Lily asked curiously.

"I do," Hermione said with a note of bitterness in her voice, "But the license doesn't transfer over from Australia. I'm taking the test tomorrow, actually, but it's annoying having to do it again. I'll be looking forward to getting out a bit. I've been here for almost a month now and can't go anywhere else."

"Huh, that's curious. I'd have guessed the license would work internationally - the skills are the same, it's not like driving on the other side of the road," Lily said, then eyed Hermione sharply to see if she got the Muggle reference.

Hermione did, and chuckled. "I never learned to drive a car, but I can't imagine that must be easy. My father drove us around France one summer and struggled the entire way - gosh, we almost got into a dozen car accidents. Can you drive, then?"

"Yes, I've got my license, but I'm not very good at it. I haven't had much time to practice. My sister Petunia likes to make fun of me for it - but she's a Muggle, so I suppose she has to feel superior _somehow._ " Lily rolled her eyes and grinned. "But I'm sure you'll pass the Apparition exam - it's super easy. Just get within 10 feet of the target and don't splinch yourself, and you'll be fine."

"Ten feet? When I took it, it was five!" It was surprising that the conditions were much more stringent in the future.

"Then you'll be lucky tomorrow then!" Lily said and Hermione relaxed. "How are you on your coursework? Is it difficult to transfer internationally?"

"I think I'll be okay. I needed to get my SEWs - Standard Exams for Wizards - validated and transferred by the Hogwarts professors, but I'm set to take the NEWT courses here." Hermione said. She had actually shown her OWLs to Professor McGonagall, who was in the process of integrating her to the NEWT class rosters.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Lily said, "What classes are you taking?"

"I'm going to take Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, and Transfiguration," Hermione responded, "What about you?"

"I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures instead of Ancient Runes, but the rest are the same, so we should be in some of the same classes!" Lily exclaimed, "Do you know what house you'll be in, then? How do they even sort with transfers?"

"Sort what?" Hermione asked in fake confusion.

"Students. We're all sorted into different houses when we arrive, based on....well, what the Sorting Hat thinks your personality traits are. There are four houses - Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."

"And which one is the best?" Hermione wondered if Lily was the same as Harry - staunchly proud of her house with the inability to see others as good.

"I wouldn't say any are the best - they've all got their own strengths and weaknesses - but I suppose we each believe our own house is the best. I'm a Gryffindor." Lily said thoughtfully.

"That's so curious," Hermione said, "We were all grouped together based on year in my school. I'll have to ask Professor McGonagall how and when I'll be sorted, I suppose..."

"Maybe you can do it over the summer so you don't need to get in front of the school with a bunch of first years," Lily suggested.

"That would be nice," Hermione had no desire to repeat the experience, or to make herself stand out more than she already would.

"Hey - you mentioned travelling over the summer. Are you going with family? Do you know where yet?"

Hermione bit her lip. As nice as Lily was being, she didn't want to share too much with a stranger, or have anyone pity her, even if she was her best friend's future mother. "I, uh, don't have any family left...I was just planning on sightseeing on my own."

Lily's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. "Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to pry. But surely you can't be planning to spend the whole summer alone?" Hermione shrugged and played with her Butterbeer mug, unsure of what to say. "That settles it then - when you get your license, you HAVE to visit me over the summer. We can go on picnics or to museums or to the pool, and I'll introduce you to some other friends in our year, and we'll have a grand time!"

Hermione looked up and smiled. Maybe her summer wouldn't be too war-intensive after all.


	6. It's Summertime, Professors!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva begins Occlumency lessons, with interesting results, and tries to convince her colleagues that accepting a transfer student into NEWT levels is a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kudos, comments, and love, everyone! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter. Reviews give me life! Enjoy :)

The wind whipped through her hair. Her robes billowed, pulling her back, so she flattened herself against the broomstick in attempt to get more speed. The morning air was chilly and harsh against her face and the early morning summer sun bore into her face with the promise of a scorcher of a day. Minerva looped through the Quidditch goal post with practiced ease. She hovered there, tilting her face to the sky. The only sounds were of the birds waking up, and the owls hooting sleepily. Minerva tilted to one side and floated smoothly towards the lake, where she leaned over and skimmed her hand along the surface of the water. A lake creature - the squid? a mermaid? - splashed hello in the distance.

Minerva loved mornings like these. The grounds and the castle were so _peaceful_ in the morning, before the students woke up and the hustle and bustle of the day began. When summer allowed her more freedom and fewer responsibilities, she allowed herself every second of flight she could grab. Lessons could be planned at night. Books could wait until winter, when the air stabbed a bit too much for comfort.

She met the other professors for a post-breakfast staff meeting, windswept and cheerful. Flying always made her feel so _light._ They gathered around a circular table placed in the Great Hall. Minerva glanced up at the enchanted sky, wishing she were still among the clouds and not in a necessary - but boring - post-term meeting.

Albus' voice brought her back to the present. "I'm pleased to announce that this year, no OWL student received fewer than 4 OWLS, and no NEWT student received fewer than 3 - which, considering that a handful were only taking 3 NEWT courses, is a significant accomplishment. You all should be proud of your hard work in instructing and guiding your students."

"Here, here!" Professor Slughorn said, raising his glass of lemonade in celebration. A few of the other professors - Minerva included - followed suit.

"We have an unusual change to our NEWT students this year," Albus said, gesturing to Minerva. "If you will, Minerva?"

Minerva cleared her throat and drew a piece of paper from her pile. "Yes, we have a transfer student from Australia beginning in the autumn. Miss Hermione Granger will be joining the 7th years. I have a copy of her transcripts from the previous years, and I can assure you, they are most satisfactory." _Well, my forgeries of her academic work at Hogwarts to the Australian school, then back to Hogwarts are satisfactory._ "I have spoken with the girl myself and have little doubt that she will excel in all of her classes here."

"A transfer? That is indeed most unusual," Filius piped up from his raised chair.

"She was British born but lived from late childhood in Australia with her parents. The circumstances surrounding her family's death and her subsequent return to England are naturally a rather sore spot for her, so I expect the other professors to assist in shielding her from unwanted questions."

There was a heavy pause at these words. Then, Filius asked: "What classes will Miss...Granger, was it? be taking?"

Minerva consulted her list. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration."

"That is quite the schedule," Septima Vector objected, "What happens if she can't handle the schedule? If the Hogwarts curriculum is more rigorous and time-demanding than Australia's wizarding school, on top of adapting to a new school?"

"I'm sure the professors here would be more than willing to assist Miss Granger as she adapts to Hogwarts, Septima," Albus said. "However, if she begins to significantly fall behind her other students, her head of house and I will meet with her to discuss her options, and if necessary, we will remove her from the necessary classes."

"Albus, are we seriously supposed to accept a new student into our NEWT class without ever having even met her?"

"It's summertime, Professors! We certainly have the ability to take the time to adapt our lesson plans," Minerva said, though she had to admit her colleagues had a point.

"Nonsense - it has nothing to do with the time and you know it! We plan our whole class for the year already knowing the strengths of our students - many of whom we've known for years!" Bathesda Babbling objected. Many of the other professors nodded agreement.

"Another issue is her sorting," Pomona Sprout said, "will she be sorted with the first years?"

Minerva sighed. _I should have known this wouldn't have gone easy with this lot._

"I suspect that sorting her with the first years would bring a lot of unwanted attention - however, it is a Hogwarts tradition," Albus mused, "Perhaps we can leave the choice up to her. I propose she visit to speak with her future professors - if possible before we all disperse for the summer - and they can determine if she is up to the task of attending the classes. We can offer her a chance to be sorted there or at the opening feast. Will this satisfy everyone?"

The professors nodded their agreement. When the meeting ended, Minerva left instead of staying to chat with her colleagues, even though she wouldn't see some of them until late August. She had a letter to write to her Traveller.

* * *

"There are four levels to learning Occlumency," Howard said, leaning on his old brown desk in his Ministry of Magic office two afternoons later. "The first involves the clearing of the mind, where we will begin today. The second is about blocking an intruder. The third level blocks a Legilimens and creates a fantasy to let them think they're accessing information in your mind. The fourth level allows the Occlumens complete control: you know exactly where the Legilimens is in your mind, what they're seeing - what you let them see, and control over your mind under the most desperate situations, such a Veritaserum, the Imperius Curse, or a love potion." Howard paused. "Very few wizards master the fourth stage."

"So, realistically, I should expect to master only the first three levels?" Minerva paused from taking notes in her chair.

"Yes. The fourth stage is required for all Department of Mystery employees. Gellert Grindelwald was another known Fourth Level Occlumens. It is suspected that Dumbledore is as well, though it has yet to be confirmed."

"I'd bet he is," Minerva mused.

"The point is, until you've been intensely training for years, it's unexpected that you'll be a Fourth. The best time to learn is school age children and young adults. They're disciplined enough to master it, and they're sponges, but not so set in their ways that they can't change how they think, which is a problem we often see in adults. There are levels of Legiliemency as well, but those are unimportant for now. Today we're going to begin with two lessons: how it feels to have Legilimency used against you - both gently and forcefully - and how to clear your mind."

"All right," Minerva said tentatively. It had been a long time since she had dabbled with complex magic without having any background in it at all.

"Legilimens!" Howard pointed his wand at his former professor.

_...she was 8, out with her mother in a field, riding a broomstick for the first time, her mother looking around worriedly for Muggles_

_...11, hatstalling at Hogwarts, and always caught between the two houses she belonged in_

... _18, telling Dougal McGregor , her love, she couldn't marry him, choosing ambition and freedom over secrecy..._

Howard withdrew from his professor's mind and began to prepare a pot of tea. Minerva dabbed the corners of her wet eyes with the sleeve of her robe, thankful for the break. Her head pounded fiercely.

"Would you consider that the forceful way or the subtle way?" Minerva joked between sips of tea.

The corner of Howard's mouth twitched in amusement. "Forceful. I apologize, but if someone is going to do that to you in this way, you're going to be unprepared and it's going to be painful. You've got to know what it feels like. You've got to be used to this sensation, so maybe you stand a chance of fighting back."

Minerva nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"Now, let's try it gently. I want you to focus on _where_ you feel me in your mind, not _what_ you're feeling. The location is important," Howard said, draining his own cup of tea and putting it down, " _Legilimens._ "

It was as though someone were poking her gently, repeatedly. _Not what, where._ He was there, off to the left, by a memory - deep down, by her heartbreak - above, when she was flying. Her memories had _locations_ and he knew exactly where to go to get them.

When he finished, Minerva marveled at what she understood. "It's as though you had a map to my mind."

"Exactly. The first step is clearing your mind - you must master this. This means your brain can go blank from thought. It's a place of calm inside your mind. If it helps, you can imagine yourself in a large Protego shield where thoughts can't get in. Or on the contrary, put the thoughts in a box and you're outside that box. They can go wherever they want in the box, so long as they stay in the box. Whatever works for you. You must practice this morning and night to succeed - and it's a skill that must be practiced over time."

He paused while Minerva took this in. "Each time you come here, I'm going to hit you with a hard Legilimency spell. You have to get used to the feeling. In time, you'll be able to fight it. But of course, you'll fight off the easier ones first."

Minerva smiled grimly, ruing the day Hermione Granger dropped into her life.

* * *

The pulsating headache that began during her Occlumency lesson was still raging when her Traveller stepped through her fireplace the following afternoon.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger." Minerva said, not looking up from her paperwork.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Miss Granger said.

Minerva looked up, "I trust your Apparition examination went well?"

Miss Granger smiled happily, "Yes, very well, thank you! I arrived within two feet of the target."

"Impressive," Minerva said, though without emotion behind the words. This headache was zapping her of energy to put the emotions in her words.

"Thank you - Professor, are you all right?" Miss Granger took a step towards the desk, worry furrowing her brow.

"What?" Minerva responded sharply, "Oh, yes, I am fine. Thank you for your concern."

There was an awkward pause in which Miss Granger stepped back with an embarrassed look and Minerva cleared her throat. "After your encounter with the Headmaster, I believed it wise to commence with Occlumency lessons. A former student of mine began training me yesterday afternoon."

Miss Granger raised her eyebrows. "I'm grateful you're so willing to protect our secret."

"Well, it's not as though I have much of a choice, do I now, Miss Granger?" Minerva snapped.

Miss Granger took another step back, clearly shocked from the harsh tone. Then she rummaged in her bag for something and produced a small bottle.

"Here, Professor - try this, just rub on your temples."

Minerva took the bottle and sniffed it. _Lavender?_ She dabbed the oil as instructed and the sensation immediately began to soothe her head. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Occlumency always made my head hurt, too - my mother used to have fearsome headaches, and always applied lavender or peppermint oil to her temples to help. The apothecary in Hogsmeade carries some - I'm not sure what's been done to it, but it's definitely stronger than the variety I'm used to, which is why it's so effective with Occlumency lessons."

Minerva smiled in gratitude. She handed the bottle back to her Traveller, but Miss Granger insisted she keep it. "I appreciate it. So, today, you will meet with the professors for your individual classes, see if you're up to speed for their classes - if not, they might assign you some extra work for the summer. It's nothing to worry about. At the end, we'll all sit with Professor Dumbledore to discuss your academic plan for the next year. But first - we need to discuss your sorting."


	7. The Sorting Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione encounters the sorting hat and Minerva nearly looses her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one to write. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think. :) Next chapter - some Voldemort-destruction planning and a pool party.

Hermione surveyed the headmaster's office, cramped with professors who she knew and trusted, but who didn't know or trust her. The office was filled with unusual trinkets, gold spinning orbs, eccentric astronomical tools, an intricate looking telescope and even a crystal ball, but nobody looked at those. All eyes, even Fawkes', were on her. Professor McGonagall looked tense. Hermione tried to relax, but all of her muscles seemed to have seized up.

"The sorting ceremony is simple, Miss Granger," she heard Professor Dumbledore saying, but from afar, as though he were speaking at the opposite end of the Great Hall. "All we must do is place this hat on your head and it will decide the best house for you." As he gently placed the timeworn hat on her head, Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Unlike last time, it didn't slip over her eyes, but instead sat snugly on top of her head. The smell - a bit musty, a bit leathery - remained the same.

 _"Well, well, what a_ mind _we have here," said the hat in her ear. Hermione sat rigidly on the stool in front of an entire hall of students. Every eye was on her, so she_ must _sit properly, act properly. In the time it took to get from King's Cross to Hogsmeade, it had been made very clear to her:_ you are a stranger here. _She must act precisely._

This memory, examined by both girl and hat, (for she could feel the hat's consciousness align with hers, connecting with her, examining her), had leaped to the forefront of her mind the instant it had touched her head. Here was the same - she must act _precisely_. Muggleborns did not have any days off in the Wizarding world, no chances to act sloppily. She did NOT want to experience sitting in front of the Great Hall all over again - especially with a bunch of first years - but sitting in the Headmaster's Office crowded with the professors watching her curiously and suspiciously was not much better.

 _Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_ this _is certainly unexpected,_ the hat spoke in her mind. _You've met me before, but I have yet to meet you. A weary traveller, an eager student, full of ambition and bravery._

 _Please, please keep my secret,_ Hermione thought desperately. She wiped her sweaty palms on her robes. _I mean no harm. I'm here accidentally, and I'm trying to make the best of the situation and....and save the world._ Dramatic, but true. She fidgeted on her stool, then remembered the professors watching her, and clasped her hands together tightly in her lap.

_I see. I believe it is unwise for the Headmaster to be made aware of this situation at this time, so I shall keep your secret. However, your sorting is rather difficult. You have grown to be a wonderful Gryffindor. There is not much more the house can teach you, especially in a year. Hufflepuff will bring you safety and security, but neither peace nor rest. You will not have peace until your job is completed. Ravenclaw would have suited you decently, but now it will not alter you much because you have closed yourself off to many ways of thinking, and I would be surprised if you could change that much in a year._

_That's a bit harsh!_ Hermione responded, but cringed a bit. She knew it was true - her interactions with Luna had proved that much.

If the hat could smirk, it did, and she _felt_ it in her mind. It declined to respond.

_Slytherin would be a wonderful choice for you. You could develop your skills of cunning, manipulation, planning, and plotting more. You could save lives there._

Hermione swallowed and shuddered. _Thank you for your assessment, but I am really not interested in being in Slytherin. Inter-house unity is important, but as a Muggleborn, it really is too dangerous. If it suits you, I'd rather complete my time in Gryffindor house. I miss it - I miss the common room, the people..._

 _The people are no longer here...or not yet here._ The hat did not seem interested in sentimentality.

 _The people I_ want _to meet are._ Hermione thought of Lily and James, and Remus and Sirius - strangers still, but people she already wanted to love as she had Harry and Ron ... and Remus' and Sirius' older selves. _Besides, they will make great allies. I need all the help I can get. I don't need struggle and opposition in my own house, which I will have in Slytherin._

This seemed to convince the hat. _As you will. Best of luck. I expect I shall hear many interesting stories about you in the future._

Hermione opened her eyes as the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

A true smile reached Professor McGonagall's face and Hermione visibly relaxed. The other professors congratulated her - and some of them looked relieved, but she couldn't be sure why.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore extending his hand for her to shake. "As you might already know, Professor McGonagall is your head of house. I myself was in Gryffindor during my school years. Now, the professors will interview you about your knowledge individually. We'll start with Professor Flitwick, our Charms instructor. Finally, we'll meet back here to discuss your results and placement for next year."

"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick squeaked, "Please follow me to my classroom." He hopped off of a pile of books and met followed him to the classroom. The classroom looked similar as it did in the future - but instead of his books, Professor Flitwick had a proper desk and stand so he could see the class. _Why the downgrade in the future?_

"Please take a seat, Miss Granger." Professor Flitwick motioned to his desk. "Now, as I have no idea what your skills are, despite your previous records, you will be asked to perform a number of OWL level exams, and then we'll begin with some NEWT level charms. No need to be worried," he added, misreading Hermione's tenseness at his mistrust of her abilities for nervousness at being tested, "Now, let's begin with _Lumos Maxima."_

Hermione quickly threw up her hair, rolled back her sleeves and turned from her professor to avoid blinding him. " _Lumos Maxima!"_ she said, and light burst from her wand, illuminating the dark wood in the classroom.

"Very well done, Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick commented.

 _Nox,_ thought Hermione with a flick of her wand, and the light extinguished.

"Oh wonderful! Are you capable of performing all spells nonverbally?" Flitwick leaned in eagerly, the previous trepidation from his face gone.

"Not all," Hermione admitted frustratedly, "I struggle with some curses and counter-curses, but charms and transfiguration spells are doable for me."

"Very well, then, try to perform the rest of the spells wordlessly, if you can. Let's try the Locomotion Charm next, if you please."

Half an hour later, Professor Flitwick was positively bouncing. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, pleased at pleasing her professor. "Well done, Miss Granger! I'll write up my report for the Headmaster and see you in September, though I see little problem with accepting you into the NEWT class! It's a rare student who can produce nonverbal spells with efficacy such as yours at your age. I'll escort you to your next interview with Professor Babbling, our Ancient Runes professor."

Here, Hermione didn't feel as though she did so well, but Professor Babbling didn't say anything negative. From there she was guided to Potions, where she was quizzed by Slughorn on different ingredients and methodology, who didn't feel the need (or energy) to waste time and ingredients having her demonstrate her potion making skills. This left Hermione feeling rather unsure about the impression she left and her assessment results. Arithmancy went as well as it could have gone - Professor Vector hadn't changed, and remained as rigid and strict as ever. Professor Sprout inquired about the different types of plants and their care, requesting that Hermione show the adequate grip to handle some plants, fertilizer for others, and watering techniques for the particularly wriggly plants.

Overall, Hermione felt she did rather well for someone who hadn't studied properly in over an entire year. She was feeling a little forlorn, however, at the lack of warmth the professors showed her.... but in her time, she'd had years to get to know them, and only a few hours here. Still, the change was shocking for her.

Finally, it was just Defense Against the Dark Arts. To Hermione's surprise, Professor Sprout asked her to return to the Headmaster's office.

"It seems we must search for yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I hope you wouldn't mind if I examined your abilities for the next professor." Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk and surveyed her carefully.

Hermione shifted where she stood. "Of course, Professor," she replied demurely.

Professor Dumbledore conjured a wooden figure slightly taller and wider than Hermione herself in the center of the office. It bore targets on its chest and forehead.

"We're going to test your curses and counter-curses for aim accuracy and power. I will list the name of the spell, and I'd like you to perform the incantation...nonverbal casting is preferred at this level, of course, but verbal spells are also acceptable. Do you have any questions?" He asked.

"Not at this time." Hermione answered, facing the dummy.

"Very well then, let's begin with...the blasting charm."

 _Confringo!_ thought Hermione and the dummy blew backwards as though hit by a rocket. Smoke blew up in their faces and they coughed. Professor Dumbledore waved his wand and the smoke cleared for them to see a large singe mark on the

"Very good. The Reductor Curse, if you please."

Hermione hesitated then whipped her wand with a _Reducto!_ and the dummy fell to pieces, its arms clattering to the tile floor loudly and wood chips bouncing nosily off the various instruments in the room.

"Now fix it, please."

This one was easy. _Reparo maxima!_ The dummy's arms sprung back to its sides, swinging and creaking slightly. Its head straightened and random wooden pieces fit neatly back into place. There was a long thin crack along the left side.

"Ah, almost perfect. I imagine if you had cast that verbally it would have been pristine."

"I would hope so," Hermione responded, a bit put out at that crack.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "It takes many people years to attain consistent quality when casting nonverbally. It's not uncommon for wizards to give up after they pass their NEWTs." When Hermione didn't respond, he said, "okay.... let's try the Shield Charm."

* * *

Minerva sat straight back in her creaky, wooden office chair, her hands folded in her lap. She watched the fire dance with a steady gaze and exhaled slowly. _I'll be happier when Miss Granger begins school,_ she thought. Her chest felt as though someone was squeezing it painfully and the room seemed dizzy...fuzzy. She took a deep breath and tried to empty her mind, but thoughts of Albus discovering when Miss Granger was _really_ from, and thoughts of her colleagues rejecting her from their classes, kept popping into her mind. _At least she's in Gryffindor. It will be easier to keep tabs on her._

She breathed again. _Protego,_ she thought, and she envisioned a shield surrounding her mind, blocking her from the thoughts....and it worked. Her mind relaxed, the tightness in her chest eased. She breathed deeply again and let her shoulders drop. This was so _nice!_ Inhale, exhale, inhale ...

"Minerva?" a voice called. Minerva jumped violently, bringing a hand to her heart. "Minerva, we're ready for you." Albus called through the Floo.

Grumbling about ill-timed Floo-calls, Minerva stepped into the fire and exited the grate in the Headmaster's office, holding her floor-length robe up to avoid soot with practiced grace. Albus and Miss Granger sat on either side of the headmaster's desk, holding cups of steaming tea. Miss Granger glanced at Minerva worriedly. Minerva looked back and forth at Albus and Miss Granger.

"Please take a seat, Minerva," Albus said.

Minerva was promptly swallowed by the empty soft, purple, velvet armchair beside Miss Granger. "Well?" she asked, helping herself to some tea.

"The reports are above satisfactory in most instances," Albus shuffled through the newly-delivered papers on his desk. "Defense Against the Dark Arts is excellent, as well as Charms, Herbology, and Arithmancy. Miss Granger, Professor Babbling has written a list of what she would like you to review over the remainder of the summer and invites you to owl her with any remaining questions. She finds your grasp of syntax and grammar above average, but wishes you to review some of the runes from northern England and a few subject-specific runes."

Albus handed the parchment to Miss Granger, who hung her head, blushing furiously.

"There, there," Albus said soothingly, "You're still accepted into the NEWT course."

Miss Granger looked up, surprised. "That is very kind of Professor Babbling."

"It's nothing you haven't earned," Albus responded.

"And what of Professor Slughorn's remarks, Professor Dumbledore?" Minerva leaned forward as much as the cushions on her chair would allow.

"Professor Slughorn believed an hour to be insufficient time to gauge the potion abilities and requests that Miss Granger review the procedures and techniques required to make a variety of potions. Should she have any questions, he would be glad to assist her once term starts."

"Well, that's good then!" Minerva looked encouragingly at Miss Granger, whose furrowed brow eased noticeably.

"Yes, well, there is one more matter..." Albus cautioned.

"What is it now?" Minerva asked with more snap to her voice than intended. _There's_ always _something else!_

"Having a transfer student is a highly unusual occurrence in this school, Miss Granger. The different curricula in your former school and here worry the other professors, who tailor their courses to the students they have spent years teaching, in order to support their learning and guide them on the path to success. Furthermore, Hogwarts is a very rigorous school - not to say that the others are not, but that we do not have adequate comparisons between non-European schools and Hogwarts. That said, the professors heavily suggested - and I agree - that you, Miss Granger, be placed on a temporary trial period for your classes. The three of us will meet at the beginning of October to discuss your progress in your classes and integration into Hogwarts. If your professors see you struggling with the material by October first, Professor McGonagall, you, I, and the professor whose subject is in question will meet to discuss any difficulties that have arisen in the subject. If necessary, we will assign you a tutor in that class, or extra lessons with a professor. Then, if difficulties persist after... oh, around four to six weeks, we shall consider your removal from the class."

A weighted silence followed these words. Minerva opened and shut her mouth several times. "Oh, Albus, you can't be serious! This is absurd!"

Albus raised his eyebrows at her. "I must admit my surprise, Minerva. I would have thought that you, above all others, would wish to ensure the integrity of your classroom."

Minerva scoffed, feeling her blood beginning to boil. "This is not about integrity! This is about not having a probationary period hang over the poor girl's head - as if any student needed to start the new school year with that, let alone a new one!" She couldn't help it - her voice raised slightly.

"This is precisely why we will do this," Albus countered gently. "Miss Granger, we do not want you to suffer in your classes or be placed under unnecessary strain from the challenge of these classes. There is the possibility of you being moved to a sixth-year class, if necessary, and you can sit the seventh-year class on a come-and-go basis next year. But again - we do not want to cause you any harm by presenting you with above-level material."

"Unnecessary strain, my hat!" Minerva exclaimed, "Albus, you would not do this for any other Hogwarts student struggling to pass a class —"

Miss Granger, who had been staring at hand clasped tightly around a teacup while the professors spoke, looked up steadily into Albus' eyes. "I do not enjoy this method, but I understand it, and I accept it."

"There you have it, Minerva," Albus smiled, opening his hands widely. "Miss Granger, I thank you for your leniency and your time today. Do you have any questions for us?" When Miss Granger shook her head no, Albus handed her some parchment. "Here is the standard homework for students entering your class, with the additional suggestions from Professor Slughorn and the notes I believe I gave you - ah yes, you have them there - from Professor Babbling."

Miss Granger took the parchment. Albus stood; the other two followed suit. "I wish you a happy summer, Miss Granger. Minerva, I suspect I shall see you soon."

Minerva and Miss Granger exited the Headmaster's office. Minerva led the girl to her office. She closed the door firmly behind them and faced her Traveller, arms crossed.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" Miss Granger responded.

"What did you make of that?"

Miss Granger shrugged, looking unconcerned. "Professor - the other professors - they don't trust me. I'm not surprised. I show up out of nowhere with 'foreign,'" she mimed quotes with her hands in the air, "qualifications. I miss the relationships that I used to have with my professors..." she trailed off.

 _Me included, I suppose._ Minerva felt a twinge of sadness for the girl. "But?" she prompted.

"But honestly, I'm used to loss." Miss Granger responded, not meeting Minerva's eye. "I'm used to missing people. And, well, I got into all of the classes - and believe I performed very well in all areas except Potions and Ancient Runes, where I was average - and that only the distrust of the professors is holding me back. I'll survive. I hope that with hard work, I can remain in the classes." The determination brought some fire back to her voice and eyes.

"Hm. If you are all right with this set up, I suppose it'll do." Minerva eyed her carefully.

"I am," Miss Granger responded, then squared her shoulders and raised her head. "Professor, may I ask what your plans are this summer?"

"I suppose I'll stay close to my cottage near Edinburgh," Minerva looked at her quizzically, "Why do you ask?"

"We have more important matters to attend to this summer besides fretting about what NEWT classes I'll be taking," Miss Granger stated in her increasingly familiar manner-of-fact tone. "We must begin planning Voldemort's defeat."

Minerva paled, the blood rushing from her head. Her chest immediately tightened - it was as though someone had sucked all the oxygen from the room. She sat down shakily and put her head in her hands.

_Oh, Merlin._


	8. It feels so... Slytherin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva paused on her way to the winding wooden staircase. One seagull flew higher than the rest, circling closer to the sun in a way that was reminiscent of Icarus, doomed to fall. It dove sharply, suddenly, and emerged from the water successfully with a fish in its beak. It glided away while the others squawked and flapped about ungracefully. Maybe it wasn't so Icarian after all. Maybe the key was knowing when to turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Working on the next chapter now, so hopefully that'll be up within the next couple of weeks! I'm preparing for an exam now, so that's taking all of my time. Hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

When Minerva first opened her eyes, she hadn't the faintest idea where she was. She blinked hard and sat up slowly. Before her lay an unlit fireplace with candles adorning the hearth. A thin, practical looking rug was before it, burdened by the weight of a leather armchair, on which a scarlet cotton blanket lay folded gently. A wardrobe, almost hidden in the shadows, sat unobtrusively in a corner. Thick, dark curtains, which were entirely useless if one forgot to pull them tightly shut at night, adorned sweeping eastern windows through which the strong morning summer light shone.

Minerva breathed in contentedly, the remnant smells of last night's fire filling her body, and smiled. _Home._ She wasn't here often, but she was glad when she was.

She stood and habitually smoothed the sheets and pillows of the old wooden bed. After checking her wand was still safely in her robe's pocket, she donned it and soft black slippers, and opened the dark oak door. Cool, fresh air hit her lungs and, through the recently opened windows, the sounds of seagulls cawing over the gentle lapping of the ocean waves greeted her.

Minerva paused on her way to the winding wooden staircase. One seagull flew higher than the rest, circling closer to the sun in a way that was reminiscent of Icarus, doomed to fall. It dove sharply, suddenly, and emerged from the water successfully with a fish in its beak. It glided away while the others squawked and flapped about ungracefully. Maybe it wasn't so Icarian after all. Maybe the key was knowing when to turn away.

A faint pop jolted her out of her reverie. A house-elf stood patiently next to her. Misty, named for the large smoky eyes that gazed up at her now, was the grandchild of the house-elf who had served her maternal grandparents. Dressed neatly in an ironed pillowcase-turned-dress, Misty came from a long line of proper, distinguished house-elves to serve the Ross family and, although Misty had been with her for many years "on loan" (the polite way to say that the woman and elf had formed an attachment to one another and refused to be parted), she, like this house, had been a gift to Minerva upon the death of her grandparents.

"Good morning, Misty," Minerva said.

"Good morning, Mistress. Mistress is up early this morning. Is everything well with Mistress?"

Minerva, who as a child had practiced her reading by teaching Misty when she visited her grandparents, had imparted some of the grammatical constructs of proper British English to the elf, yet it seemed that breaking a house-elf of the practice of speaking in the third-person was perhaps as unlikely as asking a pureblood wizard to live in the Muggle world for a year.

"Yes, very well. Thank you, Misty."

"Mistress left the curtains open again?" Misty asked with a glint of amusement lightening her gray eyes.

Minerva laughed lightly, "You know me too well."

Misty shook her head at the foolishness of her mistress and guided her downstairs to the kitchen table, where tea, biscuits, jam, and eggs were waiting for her. Minerva thanked the house-elf gratefully and sat down. Only when Minerva began to drink her tea did Misty sit down at a smaller table. This was another constant battle between them - although she consented to eat in the same room and at the same time as Minerva when there wasn't company, it wasn't "proper," Misty felt, to join her at the table. However, she consented to having an elf-sized table made (although she objected to the extra chairs Minerva had transfigured in case that she wanted guests). Pretending not to know about, or simply not mentioning, the permanent sticking charm Minerva had placed on it so it would remain next to the main table, was a sign of this battle's truce.

"Has the Prophet arrived?"

"Yes, Mistress, it's by your chair in the living room," Misty said.

She snapped her fingers and the paper appeared before her, which she presented to Minerva with a bow. Minerva duplicated the paper with a wave of her wand and handed the copy to Misty. On summer mornings, when Minerva wasn't in the Great Hall and Misty in the Hogwarts kitchens, they enjoyed discussing the paper together.

It was an unusual relationship, but suited the two of them just fine.

"Miss Granger is coming over after lunch," Minerva said after their breakfast had finished, "Could you please have some tea and biscuits ready for us?"

"Of course, Mistress," Misty bowed slightly, "Has Mistress decided what she will tell her Traveller?"

Minerva grimaced. "No, I haven't." Misty had walked in the other day to Minerva pacing on the stone floor of the living room, muttering to herself and trying to sort this whole mess out.

The fact of the matter was that she simply didn't _want_ to deceive one of her best friends of twenty-odd years. She didn't _want_ to fight in a war, against former students and colleagues. She didn't _want_ to deal with Occlumency and secrecy, or double crossing those she cared about most, or thinking three steps ahead of everyone. And she most certainly did not want to place her trust in a stranger who claimed to be - _who was -_ from the future.

And that was that. She'd tell Miss Granger later today that she'd keep her secret but continue working with Professor Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Minerva liked things clean and simple, and things with Miss Granger were anything but.

All of this was unbeknownst to Hermione, of course, who spent the morning in an almost bubbly state. Things were moving _forward,_ and she relished the feeling. While reading her copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ Hermione received a letter from a young, gray owl.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope your summer is treating you well and that you're settling into your new home in Britain! I've decided to throw a small pool party this Saturday at 2pm. It will be informal, and since my parents are Muggles, please dress in Muggle clothing. A few of my friends and our year-mates will be there as well, so you'll get to meet some of them. You'll find us on 60 Winchester St, in Cokeworth._

_I hope to see you there!_

_All the best,_

_Lily Evans_

As she read the letter, Hermione's grin and elation grew. It would be so _nice_ to spend time with people her own age, to maybe make some new friends, and to get to know the Potters - or, well, Evans and Potter - better. But above all, it would be so nice to do something _normal_ for a change.

Hermione grabbed a pen (no matter how many years she spent in the magical world, a pen was far more practical than a quill) and quickly responded,

_Dear Lily,_

_Thank you so much for the invitation. I'm looking forward to it!_

_See you then,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. You're writing to your new fellow-Gryffindor!_

Hermione rolled up the paper, attached it to the owl's leg, and showed it out the window. She watched it fly away and then, with a skip, went to get ready for her afternoon with Professor McGonagall.

A few hours later, Hermione apparated a few hundred meters away from the Professor's house and was struck by the ocean air that hit her lungs. She definitely hadn't expected to be _this_ close to the ocean. She turned the corner and, with the cottage in full view, stopped short at its beauty. The cottage did not look spacious, but the two-story old stone building definitely had character to it. The upper floor's wooden balcony was decorated with flowers, and on the wrap-around porch sat two very comfortable looking rocking chairs near the door. Leading up to the cottage was a smooth stone path, with herbs, vegetables, and the occasional flower, surrounding both sides.

_If I had to retire to any place in the world,_ Hermione thought wistfully, _it would be a place like this._

She approached the door and knocked. A small, adorable house-elf answered the door. Hermione had to swallow her disappointment - and a bit anger, too. _Professor McGonagall kept house elves?_

"Begging your pardon, Miss," the elf said in a quality of English that surprised Hermione, who realized that she must have missed what the elf said, "Are you the Miss Granger my mistress is expecting?"

"Oh! Yes, I am. And you are?"

The house-elf blinked once, slowly, but otherwise hid her shock at being asked her name. "My name is Misty, Miss."

"It's nice to meet you, Misty," Hermione said.

Misty blinked again. "My mistress is sitting on the back porch and asked me to show you through."

"That would be great, thank you, Misty," Hermione said and was led through the cottage to the back before she had time to take in more than the dark wooden sitting room and stone fireplace.

The back of Professor McGonagall's cottage faced the ocean and Hermione felt her shoulders relax upon seeing it. Somehow, in its vastness and extremity, it was immensely calming.

"Miss Granger, welcome!" Professor McGonagall said brightly.

Here was another surprise for Hermione - Professor McGonagall _actually had her hair down_. It was longer than she expected, and fell past her shoulders in loose black waves. She was dressed in a casual, flowy pale green robe and looked more relaxed than Hermione had ever seen her. _How much does her Hogwarts persona cost her?_ she wondered.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione replied. "Your home is so beautiful - I can't believe how close you are to the ocean!"

"Thank you. Yes, I am very lucky to have this little cottage. My grandfather left it for me and I visit whenever I can. Please, take a seat," she gestured to another set of chairs with a small table between them.

As soon as she touched the chair, Misty appeared again, "Would you be liking tea or coffee, Miss?"

"Tea, please, with milk," Hermione responded, trying hard to hide her awkwardness at the situation.

It was there in an instant, which saved them the awkwardness of trying to find something to say. Hermione sipped her tea gratefully.

"Miss Granger..." Professor McGonagall said hesitantly, and Hermione looked up from the tea to see her professor's shoulders stiffen and eyebrows furrow. She took a deep breath, "I have some issues with how we're proceeding."

Hermione felt her head swim and put the cup down. She pursed her lips and responded with caution, "What exactly?"

"All of this.... well, this secrecy from Albus - Professor Dumbledore, that is, who is a very dear friend, and the Occlumency...this isn't me." Professor McGonagall looked very relieved to have said this.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was so sure that she had an ally, and now, in this strange time, she had nothing. "Why?"

"This isn't me. I'm not a conniving Slytherin - I will fight, but I am not meant for secrecy and manipulation."

"Do you think I like it?" Hermione asked, her voice raised slightly. "I hate that this is the smartest way to do things, but what else should we do?"

"Well," Professor McGonagall looked flustered at the question, "We could confide in Professor Dumbledore, trust him to make the right choices with enough time and information."

Hermione laughed somewhat hysterically, "Professor, with all due respect, Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, but his manipulation cost the _lives_ of more people than I can count. We have a way to prevent that - or try - so why should we not take it?"

"But Miss Granger, you can't possibly know that he will make the same - or similar mistakes - once you show him your memories and talk to him about what he has to avoid!" Professor McGonagall spoke more adamantly than Hermione had ever seen.

"No, I can't be sure, but I know that he always has a plan and never tells people the truth. Professor - he put an _eleven-year-old boy_ up to the task of saving the Sorcerer's Stone! One what sort of planet is that a _sane_ and healthy thing to do? He...he just simply can't be allowed to continue making all the calls without question!"

"I'm sure he was well intentioned when he put those security measures in —"

"He manipulated _you_ and every other professor in the process to challenge a _child_ against Voldemort! He had _you_ build a giant chess set and basically had a series of _games_ set up to protect the most valuable piece of magic to Voldemort! He had Hagrid believing it was _safe_ to put a three-headed dog _in a school full of children_!" Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

These words seemed to have some an effect on the professor. Professor McGonagall shook her head, "That should never be done, I will give you that, but you can't deny that the man's heart isn't in the right place!"

Hermione tried, and failed, to avoid rolling her eyes. " _Of course_ his heart is in the right place, Professor. He's a kind man. He just lets all of his power get to his head and tries to play chess with people - and his own chess pieces are often the sacrifice. He's not as smart as he thinks he is. He's not as cunning as he believes himself to be."

"He's never beaten me at chess," Professor McGonagall muttered to herself. Hermione chuckled, and Professor McGonagall looked up at her, surprised.

"You see? Putting our faith in him blindly doesn't make sense."

"Manipulating him back is not necessarily right either!" Professor McGonagall snapped back.

Hermione exhaled slowly. "Maybe not," she conceded, "But - at this point at least - I feel as if it would only be detrimental to tell him about my past or any of this. Maybe...maybe we should table this for now. Let's not tell Professor Dumbledore, but let's just focus on...on getting me into the Order of the Phoenix again and working together to stop Voldemort - who is, of course, the bigger threat here. Once we've moved forward a bit - once we're more stabilized with our plans, our knowledge, our ideas - I'll be open to revisiting it."

Professor McGonagall eyed her carefully. "That I... suppose...I can work with. For now."

"Then let's do what we can for now." Hermione answered, trying to release some of the tension that was in her body.

They sat in silence for an awkward moment. Hermione played with her tea cup, not knowing where to start. Finally, Professor McGonagall broke the silence.

"So... Horcruxes and Hallows. Do you suppose we should worry about both now?"

"It wasn't easy even then to decide -" Hermione chose her words carefully, "Horcruxes, we knew weren't a myth, but Professor Dumbledore sent Harry on a chase after the Hallows, which of course could have been a myth, and which only complicated matters. I thought - and still think - that the Horcruxes are a Voldemort problem, and the Hallows are an obsession of Professor Dumbledore. As in, we should be careful, but not focus too much on the Hallows."

Professor McGonagall thought for a moment. "Let's talk about the Horcruxes. How many do we know, for certain, have already been created?"

Hermione rifled through one of her notebooks, "I have.... well, my guesses at least...written down. I'm not positive when all of them were created..." she handed the notebook to Professor McGonagall. "The ring was turned into a Horcrux when he was at school - and that holds the Resurrection Stone, by the way -" _the one that Professor Dumbledore nearly killed himself with_ hung in Hermione's mind, but she was at least _trying_ to be respectful.

"That was placed in the Gaunt House eventually - by the mid-90s it was there, at least. I know Voldemort wore it for a while but don't know exactly when he stopped, or when he decided it was better to keep it in the Gaunt House. Ravenclaw's Diadem is in Hogwarts and will be the easiest to find. I suppose the diary has already been created too, but it's somewhere with the Malfoys. And Hufflepuff's cup - well, when we found it, it was in the Lestrange vault, - I don't know where that would be now. The locket is in a cave somewhere - or actually, will be placed there within the next two years - I'm not sure _when_ exactly that takes place."

Professor McGonagall let out a long, slow breath. "We certainly have our work cut out for us..." she muttered, examining the pages, "What's this about a snake?"

"At some point, Voldemort turns a snake into a Horcrux. I don't know when he acquired the snake or when the... _horcruxification_ of it occurs."

Hermione was rewarded when Professor McGonagall awarded her a smile at the new word. "I do not believe the horcruxification of the snake has happened, nor the acquisition. So, you and your friends destroyed them with the Sword of Gryffindor, correct?" Professor McGonagall closed the book and tried to hand it back to Hermione, who refused.

"You can have that copy - I have the original. I've charmed mine so only I can read it. Maybe a similar charm would be prudent on yours."

Professor McGonagall waved her wand over it. "May I see your copy?" Hermione rummaged in her bag for hers, then handed it over. Muttering, Professor McGonagall waved her wand over it. "They should update when either of us writes in them. We can stay updated on our research in safety."

"That's brilliant, Professor!" Hermione clapped her hands together in delight. "Please, could you teach me that sometime?"

"Of course," Professor McGonagall answered, "Now - the sword? It's been missing for decades."

"Well, it was and it wasn't the sword," Hermione explained. "It was imbued with basilisk venom - which, unless we master Fiendfyre, is the most reliable way to destroy a Horcrux."

"So that means...." Professor McGonagall did not look at all pleased at her realization, "That we must kill the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Oh, but don't forget the thrill of figuring out how to open it first!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I don't suppose you know any other parselmouths, do you?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Hermione laughed. "Professor, right now, I know a total of five people."

"Oh...that's right," Professor McGonagall said awkwardly, "I suppose that's another thing we've to work on."

"Already on it, Professor. Lily Po— Lily Evans invited me to a pool party she's hosting soon." Hermione's eyes lit up. "Anyway, the Chamber. _Knowing_ the location of it provides us with a rather large advantage, since only one other living person besides us can attest to that."

"A few students of mine have taken up careers as curse breakers. Perhaps they have some insight into opening the chamber, or even know a Parselmouth. I will write to them." Professor McGonagall wrote that down in her notebook.

"My hope is to be able to turn Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy can give us the diary and perhaps, through his wife, we can gain access to the Lestrange family vault - we'll have to see how vault access works with sisters-in-laws..." Hermione trailed off.

"Mr. Malfoy will be harder to turn, but perhaps Mr. Snape can be salvaged through his relationship with Lily Evans." Professor McGonagall commented, "So when you're making friends at the pool party, remember - you are also making allies and connections that can turn the tide of this war."

Hermione knew this, but was trying to ignore it - a lump formed in her throat. "It feels so.... _Slytherin."_

Professor McGonagall's eyes softened. "I know," she said softly.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, then I'll work on developing contacts, and you can start with finding a way to open the Chamber. We also need to start on physical training - I'll ask some Quidditch players to see what they have to say about that, maybe you can ask some Auror friends - to help us with our defense and dodging skills. Just one more thing, then —" Hermione hesitated.

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall prompted.

"Could you help me become an Animagus?" Hermione blurted out.


End file.
